Just William
by Kaie
Summary: Some hints to the past, but a post Initiative fic. Angel's thoughts on seeing Spike after what the Initiative finished up with him. Throw in a lawyer and stir.
1. Just William

I don't even know why I'm here. I knew. Well, I knew something was wrong. I could feel it. Whatever the hell that it was, I was feeling it. But we got the call, the oh-so-wondrous call from the Powers That Be. And I am here. Looking at a face I have not seen in centuries.  
  
I'm looking at William. Not the drunken baddass, not Spike, not William the Bloody. Not any of those people. Just William. He's sleeping on my bed, and I'm not entirely sure just why. I walked into that warehouse believe that there was an innocent to save, some unknowing Angelenos that had gotten themselves mixed up with Wolfram and Hart. I never expected it to be him.  
  
I went and saw Lindsay a few hours ago, tried to figure out why he was there. I have destroyed Lindsay's life and it appears that he is trying to destroy mine. I followed the usual pattern of interrogation. Slam him against the wall, threaten, go almost gameface for awhile. He just laughed. Told me that I didn't understand, that I wouldn't understand. This had nothing to do with him, or me. Just William. Except Lindsay never called him that, he just kept calling him Spike. All I could think about was that he had never been Spike. I wanted to kill him for it. Rip him into shreds so that maybe he would understand that he had never really been Spike.  
  
It wasn't worth it to me, to have that lawyer on my conscience, on my hands soaking into the skin. I don't think I could deal with his voice in my head, laughing. I was trying to leave, trying to get myself out the door. Then I thought of something, where on this planet had they found him. Because Spike would never allow himself to be taken just like that.  
  
He was all smiles and laughter behind those baby blues. Your doorstep, he told me. He ran to you and you weren't there. It was easy, he says, didn't even fight back. Just smiled and said it was like old times. Said you were never there when he needed you. He handed me a tape, said it would be interesting for me to watch.  
  
It's sitting on the coffee table in the living room. I spent a half an hour staring at it, then I thought I heard a noise in the bedroom. He was still sleeping, or pretending to sleep. It was hard to tell. He hasn't moved since then. It scares me. Where did Spike learn to sleep so quietly? He used to move, dreaming of every second of the time we spent out there together. He'd shift to gameface and smile, thinking of all the innocents that we had dined on. He'd smile, and I used to think that he thought about us. I wanted him to think about the laughter, the games, the incredible feeling of living. Being with this boy was the only time in a century where I came close to feeling alive. He seemed to have that effect on people. He always would with me.  
  
~  
  
I woke up with a start, listening for the faint rustle of cloth against skin. I was at the bedside in an instant, staring at the bruised face of my Childer. "Spike?"  
  
One blood shot blue eye opened a crack, "Angelus?"  
  
"I'm right here Spike," I scanned his face.  
  
He eased back into the bed clothes, "It hurts."  
  
I knew how much it killed him to tell me that, he hated admitting weakness. Even worse was admitting it to a man that had ripped him to shreds less that a decade ago. The thing about it all was that it killed me to see him this way, almost...broken. "I know, Spike, I know."  
  
I had tried to clean him up last night, at least as much as possible. He's going to kill me when he finds out that I had to cut his favorite T-shirt off to clean him up. He's had the thing since the sixties. I knew that it would be bad, so I was prepared for the cuts and bruises. I had so sit him under the shower to soften the dried blood enough to where I could peel it off. I made sure not to get his Docs wet, he couldn't live without them. I watched the blood slide down the drain, it was his blood. We used to wash the blood off each other, but this was the first time his blood was going down the drain. I could handle the bruises left by the handcuffs that bound him to the ceiling. I could handle the cuts on his chest and face. I could deal with the bandages and disinfectant. I could clean him up, I was used to fixing him up after a scrape. There were so many things about him that I wasn't quite ready for.  
  
I wasn't prepared to count his ribs, see the bruises his pelvic bone left beneath the surface. I wasn't quite ready to see though his skin, so thin and pale I could trace the veins. I wasn't fucking prepared for him to be so far gone.  
  
"Angelus?" both eyes are open now, staring at me with an intensity that hasn't diminished over the years.  
  
"I'll get you some food," I stand quickly, needing to be out of that room. It's hard for me to see him like that, to see him so lost in himself. He doesn't say anything, just watches me with that same stare he had in 1880.  
  
I don't even hear him come into the kitchen, I miss the scrape of the chair against the tiles. He waits for the microwave to finish, for me to turn around and find him there. "Where is my shirt?"  
  
I slide the mug in front of him, "I had to cut it off."  
  
He ignores the blood in front of him, "Can I have another one?"  
  
That bothered me, I didn't expect for him to be so forgiving over the loss of his favorite shirt. Truth be told, his only shirt. "Yeah," I start for the bedroom.  
  
He doesn't follow me, but when I get back the blood is gone. "Here," I hand the soft cotton to him, "It's black."  
  
"Doesn't matter," he accepts the garment with indifference. I can't help but notice that his ribs jut out a little more when he lifts his arms to get the shirt over his head and I wince. Visibly. His lips curve into that familiar smirk, "Don't like what you see anymore, eh Peaches?"  
  
"Don't call me that," I demand automatically. The amusement fades from his eyes and his face and the room is filled with the silence that stretches between us. I work up the nerve to ask him everything I want to know. "What happened?"  
  
He stands up abruptly, the chair nearly going over in the process, "I'll be back later." He's out the door and halfway down the stairs before I can say anything. I chased him down the stairs as he strides across the office. Cordelia screams and grabs a stake as he passes her, guess I forgot to tell them who the innocent was last night. He's not stopping, even if I dragged him back upstairs by his hair, he wouldn't stop. "Spike..." I want him to know, he is welcome. He's safe here.  
  
He pauses halfway out the door, and looks back at me. I wish that look said 'I know Angel...I'll be back later,' but it didn't. It was the look that said 'Fuck you. You were never there for me anyways. I don't need your help.'  
  
He settles for saying, "Just don't Angel...just fucking don't. I don't want to know."  
  
The door slams softly behind him before I realize that he called me Angel. He never does that, unless he wants to throw it in my face. There's a noise in the background and I realize that Cordelia is talking to me, well at me mostly.  
  
"...You don't even tell us why he's here. Why is he here? Why do I have to put up with this in the office? You know I don't want him here, and that's final." Queen C is standing behind her desk, hands on hips.  
  
"Cordelia," I warn wearily. I didn't really want to deal with this right then.  
  
"What? Just because he's related to you and all that! I am not dealing with this, he tried to kill you! I want him to stay out, tell him he has to leave."  
  
"No," I walked down the rest of the stairs.  
  
"What? Why not?"  
  
"Cordelia," Wesley comes out into the front room. "Leave it alone." She shoots the ex- Watcher a glare he tries to ignore, "He was in the factory last night?"  
  
I nod slowly.  
  
"He'll be staying here then?"  
  
I nod again, "If he comes back."  
  
"He'll come back."  
  
Sometimes I think that Wesley knows more than he lets on, he certainly knows more about me than he lets on. I know that he understands what happened between Spike and I. It doesn't have to be written in a book to be understood. It's evident in the way we move around each other, the way we hide what we feel. It's just there to be seen.  
  
"No not okay!" Cordy is coming to yell at me, "I don't want him here!"  
  
"That's too bad," I rarely ever stand up to her, but when I do she knows that I mean it. "He's staying."  
  
"But...I..." she sputters.  
  
"I'm going back to bed," I trudge back up the stairs to my empty apartment and collapsed on the couch.  
  
"He can't do that! Can he?" Cordelia asks Wesley.  
  
"It doesn't matter," the ex-Watcher returns to his books, leaving Cordelia in the lobby.  
  
~  
  
I woke up sometime in the mid-afternoon, listening for any movement at all. My apartment was as silent as a grave. I couldn't even feel him anywhere. Guess Wesley was wrong.  
  
I decide to go downstairs and check, just to be sure. Cordelia is ignoring me, her way of letting me know that she still isn't happy about the whole situation. But there isn't a situation. He's not coming back, I can feel it. He won't come back unless I ask him to. We both know the chances of that happening.  
  
"He didn't come back?"  
  
Wesley doesn't dare to look at me, "He didn't come back."  
  
We were both silent for a moment, before he tries again, "Angel, maybe this was for the..."  
  
I cut him off, "Don't say it Wesley. I don't want to hear it."  
  
The telephone rings, startling both of us. We're both stunned, that phone hasn't rung in a long time. Somehow Wesley beat me to it, "Angel Investigations...Oh, hello Lorne...Right...We'll be there shortly..." He hangs up and looks at me, "Lorne found Spike."  
  
I didn't know how much weight those words lifted from my shoulders, "Where?"  
  
"Caritas."  
  
I nod, it makes sense. Spike always liked bars. He picked one where he would be safe. My boy was never dumb, played dumb yes, but he was never dumb. He always knows what he's getting into, even if it's subconsciously. Time to go get William. 


	2. Needing William

I slammed the door behind me, muscles screaming as I forced them to move in ways that they disliked. Disliked rather vehemently I would say. Every last inch of me hurt. Guess that was comes from  
  
(family)  
  
being tortured to a week straight. It didn't seem that long. Course I didn't pay attention much. I could feel every second of it now. It hurt more than the days when we used to be together, when Angelus taught me everything that I would need to know about life. I can still remember the first lesson I learned. It was the first fucking thing I ever learned.  
  
Not to scream.  
  
Darla tried. Broke that oh-so-haughty ice bitch façade, just trying to get a whimper. I loved every second of it. The pale wisps of blonde hair that would escape from the tight knot in the back of her head. She tried everything traditional, big into tradition that bint was. She tried it all...the rack...holy water...cat o' nines.  
  
He would always stand in the background, just watching me. Chocolate burning through the haze of cigar smoke and ages. Eventually she would get tired and start to whine and complain. Not him, he would smile.  
  
"It's just William," he would unhook my wrists from the ceiling. "He'll never scream. Not my boy."  
  
So I didn't. I would bite the inside of my cheeks until they bled, sing songs in my head, recite poetry. But I would NEVER.fucking.scream.  
  
'Course, then it occurred to me that I never stopped being his boy. He never stopped being my Sire. Arrogant bastard.  
  
It's fucking freezing in this goddamn city. The wind ripped through the streets, cutting through my T-shirt and raising goosebumps on my too skinny arms. It smells like demons, death, and that oh-so-wonderful scent of decaying life. I would rather be fucking anywhere but here. Sad thing, there isn't anywhere else I could go.  
  
Stepping through those wrought iron gates into the open freedom of the streets I felt the familiar pang of loss. He wasn't here anymore. Well, he was. He was everywhere. 'Cause I love him...and love is blood...his blood...in me. There are still parts of my Sire in my head. The condescending laugh, the growl, the smirk...the touch. I will always remember his hands. Blunt fingers with wide palms that swallowed your speeches and taught you the ways of unlife. He was...is, my savior as much as I hate to admit it. I remember cool fingers learning the planes of my face. Showing me that screaming fine line between pleasure and pain. He was always good at that sort of thing. Home was quite different back then.  
  
I had a home once, still do in a crazy sort of way. My home was never where we went to sleep, or where you ate, or anything like that. Home is where you learn to live, to discover the lessons of life. He taught me everything I know...he was my Sire. I can still remember the first thing that he taught me.  
  
The faint smell of alcohol tinged my nose, lingering in the safety of darkness. There were demons there, or there used to be. I was sure of that. Glancing up at the sign in front of me, I read Caritas.  
  
Fucking sanctuary? Bollocks. That's just what I needed right then. A bloody sanctuary. Guess there's a group for everything in this town.  
  
I could hear the bones creaking in my legs as I paced the curb. I had no where else to go. Hell, that's why I came here. It doesn't matter where he is...where that is, that's home. Always. At least it used to be home. Now, I'm not so sure. That soul has changed my Sire to where even I don't know him anymore. I don't think that he would take me in, no matter what. That's what home is. Somewhere you can go, and they'll forgive you and keep loving you. It's hard for him to keep loving me, when he never started in the first place.  
  
So I guess this dingy little place is home. I need a place to stay and this place will take me in. I just needed to hide from the sun, that was slowly creeping up behind me. Trying to take me unawares. I could smell it rising. Heavy and forbidding brightness, replacing the tranquil peace of night. If you weren't careful, it would crush you. Smother you with bubbly carefree happiness. And I just couldn't have that. I wanted to go back...  
  
(to him_to home_)  
  
to the Hyperion, but I couldn't get there now if I wanted to. I had just started walking and I don't remember the way that I came. I remember the look on his face when I left. Pity, pain, and promises. Well fuck him, he never kept his promises anyway.  
  
The door squealed as I ripped it around on its hinges. The place was nearly empty, except for the Sumda demon passed out in the corner booth.  
  
"Hey honey, we're closing for the day."  
  
A green faced demon presented itself in front of me. I've seen worse. At least it didn't have antlers and slime. "I can't leave."  
  
I got the feeling that he was looking further into me than I liked. As Queen-C would put it: he was vibey. If I had the option, I would've bailed right then and there, but I could already feel that the sun was up behind me.  
  
"Okay," he kept staring at me. "Want anything?"  
  
"Bottle of whisky."  
  
"Anything in particular?"  
  
"Yeah," I could feel my lips curving into a familiar smile, "Something Irish."  
  
He doesn't say anything, just flips up the bar and pulls out the bottle. A glass and a bottle of ice appear on the counter. "Want to sing anything?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"It might help?"  
  
"With what?"  
  
He just stares at me. I swear I'm not this dense all the time. It has to be the starvation that has put me in this frame of mind. I'm actually considering singing for the Kermit wannabe. The lines to one of Dawn's favorite songs floated through my head.  
  
"Fine," I opened my mouth to sing. "No," he points to the stage.  
  
I'm tempted to camp out and growl at him, but I know how that will all turn out. I will have a short and dusty ending. So I trudge up the stairs and ease my stiff limbs onto the stool. "Better now?"  
  
"Start whenever you want."  
  
The only thing that comes to my mind is: this whole scenario blows. I mean really bites the big one. I'm standing on a stage, fully sober mind you, going to sing for a guy that may or may not be more of a ponce than my Sire. It has to be the starvation.  
  
~  
  
Lorne reached for the cordless phone behind the bar, images still floating in front of his eyes.  
  
Angel Men Labcoats A glass room of knives Pain Laughter-Lindsey Angel Blackness Peace Pain-Angelface Loss Sanctuary ...  
  
There was an overwhelming sense of loss when Angel diappeared. The aching sort of pain that turned out to be chronic.  
  
Angel Investigations was first on speed dial.  
  
"Wesley?...Yeah, it's Lorne. Spike is here....He'll stay the day....Yeah....Tell him to hurry. Bye."  
  
The vampire sat motionless on the stage, like he'd just had an epiphany that would forever change his being. It was frightening...and sad.  
  
"You want to know what I saw?"  
  
"Don't need to," he heaves his body off the stool. "It's my life isn't it?"  
  
Lorne realizes guiltily that he's glad that it's Spike's life. His life is still safe.  
  
***  
  
I trudged back up the stairs after left, the tape was there waiting for me when I opened the door. Black, forbidding and...inviting. I slipped it into the VCR and pushed play. A black and white image flickered to life, Spike hanging from the ceiling. Just like the good old days when...  
  
"Have anything to tell me about Angel now?" Lindsey's voice came from off camera.  
  
"Bugger off."  
  
A bucket of water was tossed on him, soaking the shreds of clothing that he was still wearing. He started to smoke as his skin turned pink, then red. Spike started laughing, a low, crazy laugh. It occurs to me that my boy was never quite sane. The laugh resonates in the hollow emptiness of the room.  
  
"Is that all you've got?" one eyebrow quirks up, mocking. "Love, I was raised by Angelus. You think some diluted holy water is going to make me tell you something? You're a lot stupider than I thought."  
  
"This," Lindsey's voice was smiling, "Is just the beginning."  
  
"Bring them on."  
  
The screen cuts out, leaving me with the fearful lurch that I won't get to see what happens to him. I need to know something. Anything. Again the screen comes to life, refocusing on Spike. He looks bloodier, more worn, but still whole.  
  
A tiny Asian man unrolls a set of 'tools' on the table set up next to Spike. Hooks, knives, and one particularly vicious thing that looked like a garden tool.  
  
"Last chance Spike," Lindsey walked on camera for the first time.  
  
"Sod off, can't you see I'm tryin' to take a nap?"  
  
The Asain man looked to Lindsey for the 'OK' to go and picked up one on the smaller knives. He started to carve symbols onto the vampire's chest, watching the blood slowly well to the surface. Spike picked a point on the wall and stared, unmoving. A slow smile spread across his face and he bent down to say something to the man with the knives.  
  
I strained to hear exactly what was said, but couldn't make it out. Whatever it was, the end result was the garden tool impaled in his stomach. I would've screamed, hell, I would've screamed bloody murder. What did he do? He started singing.  
  
Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son? Who did you meet, my darling young one? I met a young child beside a dead pony, I met a white man who walked a black dog, I met a young woman whose body was burning, I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow, I met one man who was wounded in love, I met another man who was wounded with hatred, And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.  
  
Lindsey walked back on camera, "Stop. I don't want him dead."  
  
The torturer yanked the tool back out of his stomach, brings scraps of flesh with it.  
  
"Why do you want to protect him? Why should he mean anything to you? What has he ever given you?"  
  
Spike stopped singing momentarily, "He's family. He's home."  
  
Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son? Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one? I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin', I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest, Where the people are many and their hands are all empty, Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters, Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison, Where the executioner's face is always well hidden, Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten, Where black is the color, where none is the number, And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it, And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it, Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin', But I'll know my song well before I start singin', And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.  
  
"Now you're just being annoying," the lawyer waved at the man to start again and the screen went black.  
  
Me. I was family. Still. I was home.  
  
An overwhelm desire to go find him raced through me. I wanted to shake him, make him understand...something. I needed him. I needed William. 


	3. William exposed

ALL OF ME....  
  
Sorry this took so long ....finals are a bitch...  
  
Spike always loved bars. Even when they were for the poor and disgusting scum of the earth. He loved the grime that years had worn into the face of everyone there, loved the smells that had embedded themselves into the walls. He loved standing in the corner, watching through the haze of smoke that followed him everywhere. He said it would make him feel alive, watching all those people. They had something to live for, something real. They had tomorrow.  
  
For a vampire, there is no tomorrow. Tomorrow and yesterday blend into one big time of being. There isn't a rhyme of reason to it, never was. But he got up every day and went about his business. It was one of the things I never managed to beat out of him. My boy always had hope, always...  
  
He's sitting at the bar, absolutely motionless. He has to have been here for hours, probably before the sun came up. He was a bottle of whiskey and a glass in front of him, both look full. "How many has he had?" I ask Lorne on the way in.  
  
"None, he just ordered the bottle."  
  
I wouldn't have been scared if he had drunk a few bottles. But he hasn't touched a drop and that's just not William. He had the zest for life that was enthralling. His goal in life was to experience as much as he could, as fast a he could. He never say back and sipped reflectively. William was like an autumn squirrel. Get as much as you could before someone took it away from you. Guess that was my fault. I kept taking the only thing that he wanted...love.  
  
"Hello," I eased myself onto the stool next to him.  
  
He appeared to be studying the finer points of the glass, admiring its character. He hasn't moved or spoken since I sat down. I hate this. I hate this silence. I just want him to laugh again, like he used to...like we...  
  
"I hear you did in Penn." He let in hang in the air. He wasn't accusing me of anything, just simply stating a fact. I would've thought he cared, that I dusted one of my Own. "You here...you gonna dust me too?" he asked softly.  
  
I'm so tired of being here.  
  
Suppressed by all my childhood fears.  
  
And if you have to leave,  
  
I wish that you would just leave.  
  
Cause your presence still lingers here,  
  
and it won't leave me alone.  
  
I didn't miss that tremor in his voice, it was so close to excitement. He wasn't there, cont yet. There was still hope in this boy...this child. He had hope, even if it was twisted and warped. His whole body was waiting for an answer, "Do you want me to?"  
  
His body seemed to fold upon itself, losing all strength in his limbs. It was easier to break that spirit now, I've only done it once before. I never even got to see how he reacted. I just...left. "I don't know anymore," he fixed me with a bloodshot gaze. "I don't know. Maybe. Would you? If I asked?"  
  
"No." That one deafening word, I think I may have broken him. I think I just broke William.  
  
"Then go back to your humans," his eyes drop back to his full glass. "I can take care of everything myself."  
  
"You always could."  
  
That's a lie and we both know it. Will could never stand being alone. God knows that why he loved Dru so much, why she was his fucking princess. She needed him, had to be with him all the time. He adored her for it. He always needed to touch something, someone. Beyond all that, be needed to be touched. That's why he needed me. Beyond all else, he knew I would beat seven different kinds of shit out of him if I wanted to. It didn't matter if it was pleasure or pain. He wanted anything that you would give him.  
  
I don't really understand his fascination with being touched. It was really the closest you could get to him without being inside. He never stopped letting things in. We ripped him apart. Shredded William into tiny pieces. He just put himself back together and asked for more. Regular fucking Oliver Twist he is. Put him in the worst of situations and he'll ask for more. I carved my name into his rib once. Sliced him open and put my emblem right there. He smiled the whole goddamn time.  
  
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears,  
  
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears.  
  
I held your hand through all of these years.  
  
But you still have...  
  
All of me.  
  
"Bollocks." He challenges me to come back to the present. His eyes are wide and not quite sane. "You're full of shit. You made me like this and I can't be alone."  
  
"Yeah," I agree softly. "I know. You coming home?"  
  
He starts laughing, "Home? I don't have a bloody home. I don't have anywhere to go where they would take me. No matter what. No matter what I do, they would take me in. Not even you would do that."  
  
He's wrong, but I don't need to tell him that. He doesn't want to hear it and I don't feel like arguing with him. "I'm not going home without you."  
  
"No."  
  
He wants me to fight with him. At least that would be normal. He could deal with that. He could deal with being thrown around and broken. I could, probably should, just to make it easier on him. But if he won't be my fucking redemption, I won't be his either. So screw it.  
  
"I'm not going to fight with you Will," my voice is soft.  
  
"Don't call me that. That's not who I am anymore," his gaze snapped up.  
  
"You never were anyone else."  
  
"How would you know? You weren't there anyways." "Did you have to throw that at me?"  
  
"Do you think I care?"  
  
"Yes." A word. A challenge. The truth.  
  
These wounds won't seem to heal,  
  
this pain is just too real,  
  
there's just too much that time cannot erase.  
  
"Damn right I do!" he explodes. "You just...left. I had no one. You left me alone with them. I didn't know what to do...with out..."  
  
You used to captivate me by your resonating mind,  
  
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind.  
  
Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams  
  
Your voice has chased away all the sanity in me.  
  
He doesn't have to finish, there's no need. I know what he's going to say. "I didn't think...that it was for the best."  
  
"Do you think I cared? I wanted what was in your head. Not what was in your body. Soul or not you are still my Sire. And I fucking needed you! And you weren't there."  
  
People are starting to stare. His voice has hit that almost hysterical pitch. The one right before he either punches me, or leaves. I need to distract him. "Spike what happened?"  
  
"You don't want to know."  
  
"Please?"  
  
He fingers the rim of his glass, trying to decide if I deserve an answer. "D'you remember that boy Buffy was dating? The army one? They do...things to demons. Change them. They caught me...they did things. I don't understand all of it, I can only remember bits and pieces."  
  
I squeeze my eyes shut, imaging his skin. He has perfect skin. Pale and smooth. It cuts so pretty, bleeds so well. They wouldn't do that to him...not my boy. Not William. They just can't. I need him whole. I need him pure. I just need him back...back to Will.  
  
"I don't remember the actual," he grits his teeth, "Experiments. I just know about what they did. I can't hurt anything...not anything alive. I can't feed."  
  
These wounds won't seem to heal,  
  
this pain is just too real,  
  
there's just too much that time cannot erase  
  
There is anger there. Disappointment. Shame. The Big Bad has been defanged. It's like pulling the wings off a butterfly and laughing as it writhes on the ground. An uncontrollable rage fills me. I want to kill every last one of them. My veins are screaming to be filled with their blood. I want to feel their pain in my bones, let them flow over my hands. My how it all makes sense now. The perfect fucking clarity of knowledge. It explains so much...tells so little.  
  
"Why did you come to me?" It comes out just a little bit accusing, a little confused.  
  
"I thought you would be there. I was wrong."  
  
I failed him. I have failed him twice. Twice burned and I'm on strike three. Wonder if he'll take me back.  
  
"I'm here now."  
  
He looks at me in surprise, "Are you really? You're here...but you're not...here. You are always there, talking to me. In my head...but you never... You never came back. I kept trying to forget..." he trails off quietly.  
  
I tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone.  
  
But though you're still with me,  
  
I've been alone all along.  
  
"I know," it comes out hoarse. "I tried too."  
  
"I wish that I could be there, back then. Feel what I did then."  
  
"Come home with me."  
  
He quirks an eyebrow and opens his mouth. No doubt to let out some sarcastic retort.  
  
"I mean it Will. Come home with me...."  
  
But you still have...  
  
All of me.  
  
(A/N: Reviews are always welcome. They're like my coffee." 


	4. William came home

Hmm...what to say? Thanks to everyone that's reviewed for this fic. I would've updated sooner, but I was in Paris for the last month or so. I wrote this in a bar, inspiration struck, while staring at some Parisienne hottie. Sorry, it happens. Review if you like, 'cause I definitely would.  
  
"...I mean it Will, come home with me..."  
  
He fixes me with a skeptical eye, "Why? What's waiting for me there?"  
  
"Me."  
  
Beautifully cruel lips curl upwards like smoke rising, "Haven't we tried this before Peaches? Almost a century of it, if I remember correctly. A century of fists and fangs and well..." The trademark smirk reappears, "Lots of other nasty bits."  
  
I can remember every nasty bit, as he calls them. I actually remember them quite vividly, they were the only things that made me feel alive.  
  
"...Didn't work out so well the last time now did it? What with you becoming a walking hair gel commercial with a soul. It's not going to work ducks. I don't think it was meant to..."  
  
He's almost gentle as he insults me, I think this may be Spike's way of letting someone down easy.  
  
"Yes it will," I insist almost petulantly, "It's like...We're Verlaine and Rimbaud."  
  
That gets me two raised eyebrows and a slightly perplexed stare. At least I'm getting somewhere.  
  
"So you're the middle aged brooding writer and I'm the hot young thing that you want in your bed? Can't we just skip to the part where we fight and one of us shoots the other and flees to London. I personally volunteer myself to go to London."  
  
We've progressed to violence and teasing, I should be pleased. Thrown in an impulsive smirk and you've got Spike. Add some rather impressively bad poetry and its perfectly William.  
  
"No, I think we're past that stage. We've moved into the happily ever after part."  
  
He looks at me, eyes alight at the prospect of a good argument. I know exactly what he's thinking. Every argument we've ever had has always ended in some sort of sloppy, drunken competition. The competitions are always ridiculous and there never is a clear determination of what defines the winner.  
  
There was this one time in Germany, we strolled thorugh the streets of Berlin in the nude. I think it was Spike's idea. I may have burned his clothes. I maintain that it was cold and things shrunk. I think the fact that he had a following of prosititutes helped him out a little bit. Whatever it was, he got more whistles than me and has yet to let me forget about it. He maintains that he's 'just a better fucking specimen love!' I let him believe it.  
  
"So how do you figure," he shifts on his stool and leans toward me.  
  
"You beat me with a crowbar and ran away to Brazil," I reply dryly, remembering the millennium in hell that followed after that encounter.  
  
"Oh, right," he leans back, "Can I still shoot you and flee to London?"  
  
"NO." It's best to be blunt with Spike. He tends to   
  
"What if I just wing you? Just a little nick."  
  
do things like that. Honestly, I don't think all the neurons fire up there.  
  
"No Spike," I sigh paitently.  
  
"What if I winged you and didn't flee to London? That way you wouldn't have to pay for the ticket."  
  
I know that he thinks this is a legitimate idea. Just don't ask me where it came from.  
  
"No Spike."  
  
"Come on! It only just for a little bit!" he starts to pout.  
  
"Spike, I'm not going to voluntarily let you shoot me and then pay for an international plane ticket. Absolutely not."  
  
"Why? It would be fun."  
  
-I will not kill my Childe, I will not kill my Childe, I will not kill my Childe.-  
  
"No Spike."  
  
"Spoilsport," he mumbles grumpily.  
  
"Come on," I get up from the bar.  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Home."  
  
"Oh, right," he gets up without a fuss. I think he's forgotten that he didn't want to do this.  
  
A glance confirms that yes, Spike did just put a glass bottle of whisket into his pocket. He's now in the process of tryiung to get the pretzel basket in there.  
  
"Spike..." I warn.  
  
"What?" He snaps. I think he's upset because he's just realized that the pretzels won't fit in there without breaking.  
  
"I'll feed you when we get home."  
  
"What?"  
  
"We'll get takeout."  
  
"Can I have dumplings?"  
  
"Sure Spike." I guess I should be happy that he's following me out of Caritas.  
  
"And Shrimp Toast?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"And Kung Pao Chicken?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Can I ha..."  
  
"You can have whatever you want."  
  
"Oh, okay then."   
  
I think I surprised him. He's silent for the first few blocks after we leave the bar. I might have to start thinking that Spike is capable of actual –thinking-! Hell may have just frozen over.  
  
"Are we there yet?"  
  
Weather forecast from hell:  
  
The unecpected frost was set to come through the tri-hell dimension area. That system has currently changed course and will miss our area. Hell will remain at its current boiling temperature.  
  
"Two more blocks."  
  
-One block passes-  
  
"Are we there yet?"  
  
"Not yet."  
  
What have I volunteered myself for? I actually fought to have this misbegotten brat of a vampire stay with me.  
  
"Are we close?"  
  
To killing you again?..."Very."  
  
"Good, I'm hungry."  
  
"I know."  
  
He's silent again, should I be worried?  
  
"Actually," he's lost the sarcastic edge, "Can I just go to bed? I'm kind of sleepy."  
  
Did the Big Bad just say 'sleepy?'  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Do you know how to say anything other than sure?"  
  
"Yeah," I smile. I missed this, the continual banter, the easy conversation. I missed having this around.  
  
"That's good. Anything polysyllabic?"  
  
"Sometimes."  
  
He doesn't say anything, but I can feel him smiling.  
  
The Hyperion is dark when we finally get there. I'm guessing Cordelia has left, rather than suffer the indignity that is a bleached blonde hyperactive vampire. If I had to guess, I would say that Wesley is probably sleeping in the books again.  
  
"Where are the pet humans?"  
  
"Home for the night."  
  
"Slackers."  
  
He sighs. I think he wanted to make fun of them. It would probably be the highlight of his day. I lead him into my small apartment, flipping on the lights as I walk through the door.  
  
"Nice digs."  
  
"This way," he follows me into the bedroom.  
  
There's only the bed in there and my bedside table. He glances around and starts to get ready to bunk down on the floor.  
  
"You can use the bed Spike."  
  
"Well, where are you sleeping then?"  
  
"On the couch," I turn to walk out the door, "Goodnight Spike."  
  
"You can uh...you can stay here. You know, if you want."  
  
His face is so vulnerable, I can't help but love it. I can tell he wants everything to work out here. I can tell that he wants this really bad. If he thinks he's adept at hiding his emotions, he's dead wrong.  
  
"Okay."  
  
That done, Spike starts stripping. I just remembered that he never slept with clothes on. Duster, T-shirt and forty punch Docs fall into a pile on the floor in a matter of seconds. His hands move to the belt buckle.  
  
"Spike...pants stay on."  
  
He doesn't argue. I don't think that he wants to mess with our temporary agreement of peace. He pulls back the comforter and climbs into a pile of Egyptian cotton.  
  
"Coming?"  
  
"Yeah," I strip down to my pants and climb on top of the covers.  
  
Spike immediately slips over and snuggles into the hollow of my shoulder. His head resting on my arm, letting me drape my own around his shoulders. It just fits. It's like the last piece of the puzzle. He completes everything that I've been looking for since I moved to LA He belongs here.  
  
"You know you belong here right?"  
  
He shifts so he can look up at me with bright blue eyes, "Here? With you?"  
  
"Here. With me."  
  
He snorts, "Yeah, I've always known."  
  
"I smile and stare at the ceiling. William's come home. That's all I've ever needed. Just William.  
  
FIN 


End file.
